


For on his canvas lies The Revelation

by wisteria_prince



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gen, Iggy from medieval patreon is making art, Psychological Drama, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, and he needs help from his fellow golden deer, and touches of philosophy here and there, based on that one support convo, borrowing from Roman Catholicism and other western spiritual belief systems, tags get added as we go folks, you know the one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25063636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisteria_prince/pseuds/wisteria_prince
Summary: The goddess is all things.She is the heaven above and the land below.She is eternity incarnate.She is the present, the past, and the future.Her eyes see all. Her ears hear all. Her hands receive all.She who was graced with the holy word of the divine goddess,Who bore witness to her magnificence, is the one called Seiros.She is the messenger of the heavens, the bridge between the landsAbove and below and her blessings shall bring tidings of peace to all.May the blessings of the goddess follow you always.The Book of Seiros, Part I (The Revelation)----Ignatz has decided to take on the arduous task of painting the goddess but knows it's not a job he can complete alone. Luckily, his peers can give him a head start.
Relationships: Claude von Riegan & Ignatz Victor, but really Ignatz & his entire house
Kudos: 6





	1. The Innocence of Inquiry

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is loosely inspired by Ignatz and Claude's support conversations but with a twist that isn't just limited to our lovely house leader hypothetically flirting with someone's else’s deity.  
> Instead I'd like to explore what it could look like for Ignatz to go through the artistic process with friends who aren't painters themselves but have their own ideas about the goddess (some more well thought out than others.)

_The goddess is all things._

_She is the heaven above and the land below._

_She is eternity incarnate._

_She is the present, the past, and the future._

_Her eyes see all. Her ears hear all. Her hands receive all._

_She who was graced with the holy word of the divine goddess,_

_Who bore witness to her magnificence, is the one called Seiros._

_She is the messenger of the heavens, the bridge between the lands_

_Above and below and her blessings shall bring tidings of peace to all._

_May the blessings of the goddess follow you always._

_The Book of Seiros, Part I (The Revelation)_

Revelation (n.): The act of making people aware of something that has been secret; the divine or supernatural disclosure to humans of something relating to human existence or the world. 

What is the goddess?

What can truly be said of her essence? 

Is she merely an extension of that which she has created? Does she possess a human form akin to depictions of the patron saints, the apostles, or Seiros herself? Does she differ in the small reflection of her we hold in our hearts? Or in our minds? Is she the same? Does she exist beyond human likeness and if so how far? If so, how is that higher plane composed?

Ignatz knows he is not the only one to contemplate such questions but he’s chased after the answer from the first day he heard that word. That day came slightly before he could even hold an ink quill to parchment, its arrival marking the milestone of formulating abstract thought. Yes, even the young inquire what takes the elderly all their lives to extrapolate meaning from in hopes of transcendence upon one’s last dying days: 

_What is the goddess?_

For as difficult of a thought exercise Ignatz has given himself, he is certainly no theologian, nor does he have the desire to be one. He’d hesitate to say he’s devout despite the religious history of the town he inhabits. None of his immediate relatives are clergymen. The Victor family are simple merchant class folk but, like all of Fódlan’s children, had their start in The Church of Seiros. 

The indoctrination, or rather, implementation of the holy doctrine (depending on perspective) begins early. Somewhere locked away in an armoire far from monastery grounds are his first robes from sacraments as a child. The memories of initiation and assembly are extremely vivid, to the point where what Ignatz cannot recall in words comes vibrantly in sensory fragments. Like candles encased in glass burning fervently, serving as the backdrop to harmonies from the choir. Or the musk of old leather bound tomes accentating words spoken occasionally with forceful conviction that could be misinterpreted as incendiary and at other times uttered with soft conveyance but rarely with hesitation. 

Then there’s always the chime of the bronze bell hanging high in the clocktower that rings within the hour. 

There’s a very specific memory Ignatz holds of the end of a sermon that occured after a youth study session in the basement of his local cathedral. The gathering prior to service was a regular biweekly occurrence that he would be embarrassed to say only bred confusion and discord in his heart despite its stated purpose of “clarifying the scriptures for the lambs of Fódlan’s future.” Words from texts would be read aloud by a councillor and transcribed into everyday vernacular by way of songs or poems to be repeated in unison.

Cheery performances aside, the reinforced ideas were simple enough but left him feeling disconnected from it all in a way. Children are believed to hold deep spiritual energy, as the especially gifted often display talent on par with high bishops despite their inexperience in the world. Perhaps that lack of worldly interference is the reason for that but to this day he doesn’t know why. 

Evidence of any such aptitude appears in personal accounts. In seminary, several students often proclaimed visitations from the goddess in their dreams or visions of saints traveling alongside them in joyous company. Some attested to the presence of Seiros residing in their hearts to bestow strength in the face of fear. Ignatz learned to claim those insights as his own when asked to reveal the blessing the goddess has granted him though he has his own doubts as to whether or not divine influence has affected him at all. 

Despite the numerous epiphanies shared amongst themselves, did everyone else feel this weird sense about the goddess like he did? A feeling that isn’t defined by benevolence or malicious intent but just _indifference?_ An absence that looms overhead, beckoning the mind to wonder how does one even recognize divinity? Do you know it when you see it? Is it really a feeling? What is it like? Where does it come from? 

_When will it happen to me?_

As always, Ignatz chose to swallow his concerns with a heavy heart but was pleasantly surprised to see he could actually ignore them for some modicum of time once the youth group dispersed to hear the last round of preaching for the day. He didn’t know when but at some point his thoughts wandered far from spoken words at the pulpit to the scenery around it. A small glance at the colors radiating through the stained glass windows behind the altar easily turned into a mesmerizing gaze. That same light coursing through the mosaic of Saint Cethleann bathed the mahogany pipe organ on the balcony and when the keyboardist pressed the first few chords of another hymn, an ethereal feeling washed over him, sending a chill down his spine. It was a melody Ignatz heard enough times to sing quietly to himself like the other members of the church in the pews, but he opted to forgo any shy rendition in exchange to just let the music breathe on its own. 

After all, the beauty of the aesthetics could speak for themselves. 

As townspeople rose to carry on with the rest of the day Ignatz remained seated, eyes still fixed on that mystifying light that made everything warm and incandescent. Without cutting away, he shifted to pat his bag in search of a pad and a quill to sketch. Most of his art supplies sat in drawers in his bedroom but even if he forgot his traditional sketchbook at home, his school journal would suffice. Knowing his own bad habits, it would become filled with more drawings than notes anyway. 

He fiddled with the buckles on his satchel before promptly snapping out of his gaze at the sound of unintelligible murmuring next to him. Realizing the source of the sleep ridden mumbling, he sighed.

Ignatz didn’t need to lift up the brim of the other boy’s cap or peek through golden curly locks of hair to know Raphael’s eyes were closed. His slumped over posture was enough of indication he was waning in and out of consciousness due to an impromptu nap. Nonetheless, he straightened his hat and gently whispered his friend’s name to no response. 

Thinking about it, Ignatz didn’t know why all of the parishioners’ children wore the same adornments but perhaps there’s a strange comfort in uniformity sometimes. It minimizes the potential for the infamous chaos of individuality. In unity there is power, but it’s the actions of the individual that lead to disarray. 

Like Raphael snoring at the end of service. 

Ignatz grabbed the taller boy’s shoulder and shook it once more for good measure. 

“Raphael, you have to wake up!” Amber eyes fluttered open, squinting at Ignatz’s troubled face in a haze before focusing with their usual fiery glow. 

“Oh Iggy it’s you! I’m sorry! I guess I was a little tired so I thought I’d rest for a bit but then I totally dozed off!” He laughed off the mistake and peered around at the empty seats. 

“I guess it’s over huh?” Ignatz nodded, refraining from any judgements. Naturally, hours of listening to the same people talk about the same concepts could bore anyone to sleep. 

“Well that’s good! I’ve been wantin’ to go home anyway!” Now it was Ignatz’s turn to laugh. It was a sentiment he understood all too well.

“But say, I didn’t miss anything important did I?”

The sincerity of the question made him pause. He wasn’t sure. Even if he had been paying attention, he wasn’t sure if he could decipher what was important in the sermon and what was just flowery language. Even though Raphael isn’t the type to make fun of him for that limitation, Ignatz didn’t want to admit it. 

“N-no. I don’t think so,” he stammered out. _It was probably the same as always._ It’s an honest answer. Not very confident but honest. He could’ve swore Raphael stared at him with a certain level of concern before letting it go. 

“Ah okay. Sounds like missing one of these things isn’t worth fretting over then.” He stood up and stretched his legs as if preparing for a run. “Anyways, I’m starving! Why don’t we go get something to eat?” 

“Sure! But…” _But what?_

Ignatz wanted to agree that some kind of late lunch would’ve been nice at the time but he faltered. The warm feeling from earlier dissipated and in its departure, that familiar inquisitive uncertainty emerged anew. His nerves began to flare up in the pit of his stomach but if there was anyone he could talk about this with, it was him. 

“Actually Raphael, could I um... ask you something?”

“Of course!” He gestured at the empty space on the bench next to Ignatz’s leather bag. “I don’t have to sit down again do I?” Ignatz shook his head vigorously. 

“No no! It’s fine!! It’s just um…” he trailed off, taking a breath as fresh memories from youth group resurfaced. 

“So you know how earlier today when we met downstairs and after we read verses everyone talked about their different experiences with the goddess? Well, we didn’t get around to hearing your answer so I was just wondering um…have you um...”

“Have I what, Iggy?”

_There’s nothing to be afraid of. Raphael’s easy going demeanor says that much and yet why is this so hard to bring up?_

Fortunately, Ignatz didn’t let the difficulty of the topic stop him from asking. 

“Have you spoken to her?”

“To who?” Ignatz wondered if his friend was actually listening or not.

“The goddess?”

“Oh! You mean Sothis?” 

A sharp pain shot through his chest upon hearing Raphael refer to her so casually. He looked around, fearing any clergymen could have overheard the two of them but it seemed they were too preoccupied in cleaning and talking amongst themselves to notice. Raphael waved a hand in front of Ignatz’s face. 

“Hey what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!!”

“Y-you’re not supposed to just say her name like that!” Raphael blinked in disbelief. 

“Oh. Really? Is that bad or something?” he asked, genuine confusion echoing through his tone. Admittedly, no one explicitly taught Ignatz that type of etiquette as a rule but somehow he knew it wasn’t proper. 

“It’s her name! It’s really important so we can’t say it like that. Especially if you’re not a cleric or anything so…” He studied Raphael’s face, who seemed to be unfazed. 

“Oh. Whoops. I’m sorry! I guess I’ll go apologize later,” he said, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. “That’s what confessional is for, right?”

Confessional. That wooden cabinet the priest makes everyone sit in to repent for their sins. Ignatz could recall the first time he was asked to seek penance and how his feet didn’t even touch the ground when he sat on the small wooden bench and clasped his hands together in humility. It wasn’t hard to think of things to be ashamed of in the wake of spiritual judgement so the atmosphere in it is often upsetting with every visit. 

The image isn’t pleasant to dwell on but it's necessary. At least Raphael didn’t appear to harbor the same discomfort about it. 

“R-right,” Ignatz continued. “Anyway, have you spoken to her before? As in, have you talked to her and she said something back?”

“Yea. A few times actually.” Ignatz’s eyes widened upon hearing such a response spoken so quickly. 

“Really? Then please tell me um, what did her voice sound like?” 

“Her voice? Hmmm….”

Raphael went silent for a moment. The act of him raising a finger to his chin in thought certainly was a rare sight to behold. Ignatz shifted towards the edge of the pew, waiting patiently for the answer. 

“It sounded…. Really strong. And pretty. It was probably the strongest and the nicest voice I’ve ever heard.”

“Strong and pretty,” Ignatz repeated under his breath. 

“Yea but then again, it sounded a lot like that one concillor lady in youth group that translates all those really hard books for us so I’m not really sure. Maybe I’m confusing the two.” Ignatz frowned slightly. 

“That’s okay. Could you at least tell me what you guys talked about or what she said to you?” Raphael resumed his rather endearing thought pose once again. 

“I dunno. I always ask the goddess about how I can get stronger to protect my sister and stuff since I wanna be a knight one day but...as for what she said well…”

“Well?”

“I don’t remember.”

Ignatz buried his head in his hands. 

_Just when he thought he was getting somewhere._

“Yeah sorry buddy. I’ll be sure to tell you when it all comes back but is something wrong?” 

“No, it’s fine except…” He wondered how to phrase it. How to avoid getting too worked up to the point of making a scene in spite of sweaty palms and a restless leg that started shaking uncontrollably. Although Ignatz couldn't hide his nerves, he leaned in close and lowered his voice. 

“I asked because I don’t hear anything when I try to talk to her. Ever. I don’t do it very often but even when we pray together I can’t help but feel like I’m the only one who doesn’t hear an answer. And I don’t know if that’s because I’m doing something wrong or something is wrong with me or…”

A firm weight on his back quieted his rambling. It was Raphael, attempting to pat away his worries with a hand. 

“Hey, Iggy it’s okay! I kinda know what you mean but I’m sure you’ll hear back from her soon! She’s just really busy!”

“Busy?”

“Yeah. The way I look at it, all the people of Fódlan talk to her everyday right? Now, I haven’t been very far but the continent is pretty huge so maybe all those prayers she gets is like when you get a lot of mail to sort through and write replies for you know? I’m sure she’s trying her best so she’ll get back to you eventually!”

Ignatz couldn't tell if the metaphor was worthy of a laugh or genuine consideration. It was certainly an explanation with questionable validity but an idea that never dawned on him. The concept of an overflow of messages appeared to be too human of a construct to apply to any higher power but maybe that’s how they’re more similar than different? He couldn’t say but at least his leg stopped shaking and that tightening in his stomach ceased. He smiled feebly.

Regardless of his insight or lack of, Raphael’s support was appreciated. 

“I don’t know if that makes any sense but-” Ignatz stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder earnestly.

“No Raphael. I think I understand. I hope I hear back from her soon too.” 

When he left the church that day, he didn’t bring up the conversation again but as time passed, he found himself enthralled with something more moving than an allegedly heavenly voice. More than hearing her speak was the desire to see her as others proclaimed. After all, if meeting her is like interacting with the glorious sunlight shining through Cethleann’s portrait, then it’d be worth any kind of prolonged wait. 

Then again, if the stained glass served as any indication, maybe the wait doesn’t have to be so long. Maybe the meeting can be facilitated through a certain medium of sorts, Ignatz’s favorite medium: 

Art. 

It was a trade he grew up with and displayed more passion for than any family business or ancient texts combined. If any member of the congregation could read his thoughts, Ignatz was certain they’d dub him a child obsessed with materialism but it’s only normal for a human to want to see the apex of grandeur in their likeness.

 _When the goddess became like us and walked with humans, what did she really look like?_ He wasn’t the first person to wonder that and he couldn’t have been the only person questioning it then. 

_If she returns one day, no when she returns- will she be recognizable?_

_In the past, was she tall and confident like the archbishop?_

_Was she small and frail like him?_

These were speculations gnawing at the back of mind that he had never abandoned but, as life goes on, other circumstances often arose. Following his older brother’s footsteps, merchant life led to some forfeit of religious duty. Consequently, routine suffered and he fell out of his debates with himself. But not for long. 

When his parents sent him to Garreg Mach, those sentiments returned. 

The desire to compose that which he does not fully understand, to illustrate all that is holy and righteous yet unknown- developed stronger than ever. Although his primary business at the monastery is cultivating a well rounded education to become a knight, he can’t ignore the simple fact that he’s an artist at heart. 

A humble artist with a lofty goal in the distance and no visible steps to get there. 

Ignatz sat at the desk in his quarters, flipping through pages in his sketchbook. Corners of the parchment succumbed to water damage from heavy rainfall the past few days and subsequent negligence on his end but for the most part, his graphite illustrations remained intact. Anatomical studies filled most of the space thanks to the small wooden mannequin perched on his windowsill. He carved the model and implanted the articulation points himself during a workshop day and was happy that it could produce some basic poses. It doesn’t beat working with a live model but is better than swallowing the embarrassment of asking anyone personally. However, the loose springs in the elbows and the knees were a definite sign of much needed maintenance. 

Doubting the reliability of any mental notes, he grabbed a rogue paper scrap and a reed pen to jot down a makeshift to-do list. Underneath that bullet point went restocking supplies in general since the pastoral piece in his portfolio couldn’t be completed without more paint. Ignatz liked the warm colors applied to his half finished take on a cottage resting near the Oghma Mountains but replacing the pigment wouldn’t be cheap. It felt wrong to ask his parents for another shipment of paint to support what they called “a frivolous hobby” so extracting some by hand out of local flora would have to make do. Once that was done, he could devote attention to his other piece. 

Well, hypothetical piece. 

Ignatz stared at the white canvas on his old easel blankly. He had been doing this for weeks in hopes some kind of inspiration would strike him but the effort proved futile each time. This canvas will have great significance after all if everything goes well and starting a magnum opus shouldn’t be taken likely. 

Nevertheless, respect and procrastination are not one in the same. He’d have to start eventually but _how?_ For a while, he used his focus on other paintings as an excuse for not working on this one but he can’t dance around the idea forever. 

_It doesn’t even have to be perfect._

_It just needs a beginning._

Ignatz raised a stick of charcoal to the canvas, hovering over the surface. Maybe a single line or two wouldn’t be so bad. Just a few contours for the her head and-

_Ruin it?_

This lavish board he spent his savings on?

_No thank you._

He tightened his grip on his pencil, pinching it harder between his fingers but not enough to break. He needed to try something. Anything. But he couldn’t shake this strange feeling. 

No matter. The soft rapping at his door was probably the wind but as he lowered the pencil to the coarse linen, that feeling made his stomach sink. 

Someone was watching him. 

_Was it the goddess?_

Was she waiting to see what he’d do? How he’d wrongly portray her despite the best of intentions?

_Did the door creak open?_

Is this a sign of her disapproval before he’s done anything?

No. He can’t afford to think that way and yet-

“Ignatz! Hey Ignatz!”

That voice rang loud and clear. Startled, he dropped his charcoal and spun around to see a familiar figure standing outside his dorm room. 

But where did _he_ come from?

_Did he sneak up on him?_

Today’s surprise visitor was none other than Claude von Riegan, the next duke of the chief family of the Leicester Alliance. It wasn’t entirely strange to see him here given the fact that they are classmates and he is Ignatz’s house leader but truth be told, they didn’t really speak much outside of that. They were archery buddies that spotted each other during training and occasionally collaborated on the battlefield as tacticians but that’s about it. In reality, it’s almost like they exist in two different cliques. On most afternoons, Ignatz continued the habit of eating lunch with Leonie and Raphael but always saw Claude at a crowded bench on the other side of the room. The young hier sat with both elbows on the table, undoubtedly sharing monastery rumors with Hilda and other students while stepping out of arguments with Lorenz but every now and then, the two made eye contact that never amounted to anything. He was too far away, literally and figuratively. Not unreachable or far enough to call distant but but away. 

Yet here was the popular man of the hour, leaning against the doorframe of his quarters like a friendly stranger. 

Ignatz almost didn’t know what to say. Almost. 

“Ah Claude I’m sorry!! I didn’t know you were there. You should have called out my name or something.” 

“I did. Multiple times.”

 _Oh dear._

Ignatz bent down to pick up the fallen charcoal stick and placed it in a drawer, fortunate it didn’t break in two. He opened his mouth to speak but Claude continued. 

“But, if anyone should apologize it’s me. At first I thought you were painting since you kept staring at that canvas in front of you but when I noticed you weren’t moving I figured maybe you were meditating or something. Sorry if I interrupted any fervent praying.”

Ignatz furrowed his brow before realizing that he must have really been in a trance, especially from an outside point of view. He shook his head. 

“I hate to disappoint but I wasn’t praying. I was….”

_What was he doing?_

“I was thinking,” he finished. 

“About what?”

Ignatz froze. He hadn’t brought up the topic with anyone in years. More precisely, he hadn’t mentioned his self planned project to anyone at all, not even his closest friends and in a matter of seconds, Claude asked a question with a very complicated answer. Maybe not complicated but personal? No, just… hard to explain. 

“Nothing in particular,” he said, voice too shaky to come across as convincing, especially not for the human lie detector standing before him. “Nothing huh?” Claude asked, crossing his arms slyly. “That’s an awful lot of time dedicated to nothing.” 

Something about the clear lack of progress on his art and the playful tone in Claude’s voice made that comment sting, even if he was only teasing. He didn’t owe him an explanation per se, but he didn’t feel comfortable lying about it either. Moreover, he wasn’t sure how Claude would respond? 

_What if he called him a heretic?_

Then again, the guy isn’t the type to be mean spirited or at worse, condemn people like that. And it was kind of tiring to keep things to himself when he felt so directionless. At the very least it could be an opportunity for the two of them to connect over something other than bows and arrows and homework assignments. 

He glanced at the sketchbook on his desk and exhaled audibly. 

“Okay, I’ll tell you. _But not here._ ”

Turns out, getting his house leader to sneak out of Garreg Mach for a while was easier than Ignatz imagined. In fact, the hard part aside from finding a more suitable location was persuading his own moral conscience that they weren’t committing truancy so leaving school grounds unannounced was okay. Somewhere written down in some verbose rule book that probably wasn’t okay but Claude found it relevant to remind him that worrying doesn’t change anything. 

Once you slip past the gatekeeper and head for the trees, whatever happens, happens. 

If neither of them get caught, perhaps he could joke about this too one day. 

Using a map, he took Claude to a forest roughly 30 minutes away from the foot of the monastery, out of earshot of anyone save hermits and wildlife. They probably didn’t need to go past the clearing but Ignatz insisted they walked a little further in, just to be safe. Ironically, he ended up tripping over a stray branch, nearly falling before Claude grabbed his wrist and pulled him upright. Disturbed by their intrusion, a few cardinals dispersed from the bushes to take flight. 

_Yes, it’s probably good to stop here._

“And people say I’m the one with secrets. Never would’ve guessed that you’re hiding things too Iggy.”

“I’m not… hiding this,” Ignatz said. _Not anymore anyway._ Claude gestured to the various trees around them. 

“Given the change in venue, you’re not vocal about it either. This whole, _pondering the existence of the goddess thing_ , I mean. Heavy stuff right?”

“Right.” Ignatz considered his next words very carefully. 

“You see, the library has so many texts written about her, some that they teach us in class and others that hardly get mentioned but overall, they present her in a really exalted light. And as our creator, I’m sure she deserves all that high praise but when that’s all I read, it’s hard to determine where reality ends and mythos begins.” 

“So you’re searching for the truth then? Well, if you ask me, anything in the school archives that’s actually available to the public is romanticized no matter how you look at it. That’s why the church keeps the unsavory content hidden or burned to a crisp somewhere else.” Ignatz’s eyes widened. He didn’t know what was worse: rumors of church censorship or the implication that what he wanted to discuss _was_ church censorship. He had an urge to cover the other boy’s mouth with his hand but then remembered no one else was around. 

“No no that’s not what I’m saying!! I don’t even care that much about what gets published or not!” _That was true but came out terribly wrong._ Claude smirked. 

“Is that so? Then, what _do_ you care about?”

“I just care about what she looks like!” he asserted. 

“What she...looks like?”

“Yes. Because-” No. He could do this. They came this far and he’s wanted nothing but to get this out of his system for as long as he can remember. _He could do this._

“Because I want to paint her one day.”

The wind whistled through the trees, displacing leaves as birds chirped softly. Claude’s facial expression was unreadable but it didn’t seem wholly excited or upset in any way. It was the textbook definition of neutrality. 

Ignatz will gladly take that as a good thing. 

“That’s cool Iggy. So uhh, you brought me all the way out here to say that?”

“Y-yes.” He let out a small sigh of relief. _That’s the first premise out of the way._

“You seemed surprised,” Claude added. “Now I will admit, I am a bit confused on this so what exactly were you expecting to happen?” 

It was a good question he didn’t have an answer to. 

“I don’t know.” _It certainly wasn’t this_. Claude laughed. 

“You know, I’m not one of those super religious types nor am I a mage so no fire and brimstone here. If you want to paint the goddess, then go for it.”

Encouragement is always nice to hear but not when it lacks context. 

“Thanks but it really is a bit more complicated than that.” Claude toyed with the tail end of his braid between his fingertips. _Hopefully he wasn’t bored._

“Well the goddess is supposedly the pinnacle of everything so yeah, I could see how that’d be tough. But a lot of people in the past have made portraits of her already so why don’t you just borrow ideas from them?”

“No. I respect the pieces that are already out there but I want to do this on my own.” _To make his own interpretation, as true and original as it can be._

“Oh, I see.” It was a simple reply with a hint of intrigue in the mix. Ignatz shifted his weight to lean against the oak tree behind him, running his fingers along the divets of the bark before continuing. 

“But, I’ve decided that in order to draw anything, goddess included, I have to know its essence first.” 

“Its essence?”

“Yes! Um...let’s see,” Ignatz murmured, trying to come up with a reasonable example. 

“So take a chair, for instance.” Claude closed his eyes and placed an index finger to the side of his temple. 

“I’m imagining it, yes. But one of those nice rocking chairs that grannies like to sit in.”

Ignatz had to stifle his own laughter to carry on. 

“Whatever chair you choose is fine. Anyway, it has a purpose which is sitting on it. Once that purpose is known, carpenters can craft with that in mind to maximize whatever purpose it serves. And that’s how an artist is able to convey the essence of any object or idea. If that makes any sense.”

Claude nodded, although his attention seemed to shift to something else in the nearby area. 

“Hmmm, no that makes sense. That’s fine and dandy and all Ignatz but then follow me here. Look at that rock.” 

Ignatz followed the direction the young man pointed in to see a moss covered stone a few paces away. Before he could speak, Claude started walking towards it. 

“I have no clue what a rock’s purpose is mind you. To be ground like? To hide behind like this?” he asked, crouching down in a poor attempt to camouflage himself. “This isn’t even a chair and yet check this out-” he said, moving swiftly to sit on top of it. “I can use it just like one.” 

Ignatz could’ve swore he heard him curse under his breath about the moss inevitably marking his long coat but ignored it. 

“Anyway,” Claude continued. “The point is things can have multiple uses. Multiple interpretations. But how do we know which is the right use? _The true purpose?_ Sure, I can buy that this rock probably wasn’t made for me to sit on it and get grass stains on my clothes but people could see it that way. Different objects or concepts have varied meanings for different people. And I’m saying that to suggest-”

“-that’s how different kinds of art are made,” Ignatz said, inadvertently interrupting. Claude didn’t seem to mind. Quite the contrary actually. 

“Exactly! But we’re not talking about chairs or rocks,” he said, standing up to wipe the dirt off his coat. “We’re talking about the goddess right?”

“Right. In that case Claude, what does the goddess mean to you?”

The other boy paused, a puzzled look emerging on his face. In response, Ignatz took a slightly different approach.

“Maybe I should phrase it another way. So...when you think of the goddess, what comes to mind?”

As he took off his coat to air it out, Claude flashed a sort of enigmatic smile, the one he was known for that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Call me a heathen but I don’t think about _your_ goddess very often. But..that’s an interesting question isn’t it?”

With that, silence fell between the two. Claude fixed his gaze on the rock below while Ignatz stood there, tension crawling on his shoulders. Aside from the occasional gusts of wind that hushed through the woods, the silence was deafening. The fact that Ignatz could hear his own breathing and the racing of his pulse as clear as day was nerve wracking. Like most people, he couldn’t say with full confidence that he knew Claude very well but he didn’t know him to be reserved. Things rarely gave the house leader enough trouble to the point of speechlessness. 

He was far too quiet.

This felt wrong. _Did he say something wrong?_

“F-forget about it,” Ignatz stammered. “I’ve been saying a lot of weird things and we should probably head back and-”

When Claude looked towards him and the two made eye contact he stopped, words catching in his throat.

“While I do agree we should head home before they send a search party after us, no, it’s not weird. In fact, I’m glad you’ve asked me about these things and told me all of this.”

“Why?”

“Because we never talk.” 

_Oh._ A fair point, albeit a little too blunt but…

“That’s not true!” In a swift series of motions, Claude slipped his long coat back on adjustied the lapel pin that held his cloak in place. 

“We do but it’s always business. Nothing fun like this.” 

Ignatz tilted his head to the side in confusion. 

“Is this...fun to you?”

In return, Claude gave a half smile and combed his fingers through his hair. Ignatz was just relieved to see the boy’s features soften in comparison to the nerve wracking intensity mere minutes ago. 

“It’s interesting. I’m honestly pretty stumped and not many things get me like this. I promise I’ll have a good answer soon if you’ll let me figure it out but in the meantime, why don’t I offer you an easy piece of advice?”

“Advice?”

“Have you tried asking the others?”

 _The others?_ Of course, this was the first time in awhile he talked about the goddess to anyone, let alone opening up about something so sensitive to another person but _the others?_

“Who are you talking about?” 

“Our classmates, silly. I mean, think about it. As an outsider, I can only give you an outsider’s perspective but I have to do some soul searching to come up with it first. On the other hand, the rest of the golden deer house have lived here far longer than I have and probably have more concrete ideas to help you find that godly “essence” you need for your art, wouldn’t you say?”

It was a tempting suggestion. After all, this unexpected discussion with Claude went fine and he could probably learn a lot from his peers. Despite that, certain fears lingered in his mind. Concerns of sharing his own passions were natural but the fears of persecution for his own skepticism felt irrational to some degree. His class is a rather ragtag, laid back group for the most part. 

Nonetheless, that specific worry still existed. 

“That’s...not a bad idea. Do you think they’d be willing to talk about it?” Ignatz asked. 

“Maybe. To be honest, if you were anyone else like Lorenz or something, I probably would’ve zoned out by now. But this is coming from you Iggy. I’m sure people will want to pitch in.” 

He stepped closer towards Ignatz and placed a hand firmly on his shoulder.

“Besides, the golden deer are gonna get a sweet painting out of this, right?”

“R-right!” 

And with those words, a sort of unofficial deal was made. 

When Ignatz returned to his quarters that evening, he immediately went back to work on his new project, evidence of his labor in the form of books open to biblical passages and crumbled journal notes strewn on the floor. The canvas remained untouched yet he did something new for once: make several upon several drawings with the goddess’s image in mind. Almost all of them were ripped from his sketchbook and discarded in the wastebasket at his feet except for one he decided to pin to his desk. It wasn’t particularly appealing to look at, definitely not the best of his quick sketches but something about it reminded him vaguely of that certain feeling he had in a cathedral years ago as a child. He didn’t know why but regardless, it seemed disrespectful to throw it away. 

He rested his head in his hands in exhaustion, palms accidentally smudging his glasses. 

Painting the goddess in a way that does her legacy justice will unequivocally be the hardest project Ignatz will ever complete as an artist. He knows this so well that it’s why he’s wanted to quit so many times before he even starts. 

But, if he can create something larger than himself while also seeking help from his classmates, people around the same age as him who might be making the same inquiries as him, then it’s worth a shot. 

The next question to ask himself is hopefully simpler to answer:

Out of all the golden deer, _who shall he ask first?_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes who indeed will Iggy ask first? I don't know and you don't either but we'll find out soon ;^)


	2. Visionaries and Apparitions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this update is a bit longer than I anticipated but let’s think of the extra bits as a treat since it took me awhile get all the moving parts into place! this fic has become pretty research heavy but we’ve arrived at part 2!

Somewhere, in a timeline of unknown origin, exists a white room. 

The room would be empty, save for its single occupant: a young man with sage colored hair and large round glasses that magnify bright, innocent eyes. He stands in an officer's academy uniform, equipped with nothing but a piece of chalk. He holds it loosely in his hand as it dusts his fingers and sifts residue onto an immaculate floor. 

The expanse in front of him stretches out indefinitely, like a long corridor bathed in light. The floor reveals a reflection of himself under his feet in a hazy display. If he turns his head to peer over his shoulder, he’d be greeted with the same view in front of him. An endless void. 

Somewhere, a voice calls out to him. It speaks faintly in an archaic language he cannot produce but for some strange reason he understands every word and he knows exactly what it wants him to do. 

It asks to bend down and draw a line. Point the white chalk at an angle with the ground and draw a line going forward. It will appear invisible at first but he must draw it with the confidence of a person who knows what they create is there. _Who knows there is more to reality than what can be seen with the human eye._ And as he moves continuously down the corridor, tracing a line down his path he cannot stop. Not until something tells him to stop but it will not speak the language of modern men or the ancient prose of the past because it exists beyond translation. 

_He will know when to stop when he hears the dialect of the heart._

Nervous but unshaken, his hand moves on its own. His body, as if it doesn’t belong to him at that very moment, moves on its own, connecting the chalk with the floor. He bends his knees, creeping forward a few steps to draw the line he cannot see. His movements feel heavy, yet purposeful, as if his ankles have shackles that tighten with every step but the further he travels out, the closer he’ll be to walking freely again. 

Contrary to the initial meters, his pace begins to quicken. He starts shuffling his feet like a drill for a workout in school and it’s not long before he breaks out into a jog and then a run. As he moves faster, color rushes into frame, streaking against the walls and the floor the same way rain coats a window pane. With color emerges structures, and soon between the boy and the line lays cobblestone beneath his feet and grass along the plane. The white line becomes visible with the aid of the concrete that separates him from the meadows splashing into view. He doesn’t know how far he’s gone or where he is but the scenery is familiar. He can feel the rays of the sun beat hot against the nape of his neck and his clothes feel light and airy despite the beads of sweat falling from his face. 

He doesn’t know if doing so is a mistake or not, but without much thought, he pulls his drawing arm away from the ground and stops to catch his breath. His pulse beats in his eardrums wildly and his throat feels dry and scratchy. He wipes his face with his sleeve and looks around to scan the new setting. 

There’s mountains in the distance. Smoke billows from the peaks. The scent of pine and ash fill the air and it’s accompanied with disembodied voices that yell in mumbled tones. They all speak a modern language and he can jot down an identity to each one but he cannot understand anything they say. It’s all too disorderly and jumbled and angry. Maybe not angry but...worried. Concerned. Combative. 

He cannot see any of them but it sounds like they’re yelling from the trees. His parents call out to him. His classmates call out to him. The archbishop calls out to him. His teacher… his teacher is there. They’re all there somewhere but no matter how many times he frantically turns his head and searches he cannot find them. 

Instead he finds a silver bow at his feet and a quiver attached to his back. 

When he picks up the bow, the ground rumbles beneath him. Soldiers on horseback trample the dewy field, some riding forward while others collapse into the mud, confined to be martyrs forgotten in dust but remembered in legends. 

_This is not a familiar place._ That’s what he tells himself, a half truth baked in wishful thinking. _This should not be a familiar place._ He studies the white line in the concrete, looking out onto the horizon ahead of it. A fortress is perched above the trees, guarded by faceless people with rows of artillery. It’s at this moment where it hits him. 

What he did was nothing ordinary. Nothing to take pride in doing. 

Somehow, without realizing it, he drew the firing line. 

He instinctively reaches for an arrow out of his quiver, despite trembling fingers. The voices do not cease. They continue like that endless room he stood in before. The heavy thump of his pulse is almost comforting as it drowns out the sound of gunfire and shouting whirling around him. He pulls back his bowstring to shoot but doesn’t know where to aim, who to aim at, or if he should shoot at all. With every fallen soldier, the color bleeds away. He tries to steady his hands but cannot avoid the unease from the white void seeping into space again. As the string snaps back, an unpleasant sensation takes his heart. 

It’s a sort of feeling you’d only know if you were being hunted. 

He cannot see his assailant but he watches a single arrow travel down his line of sight. 

Colors swirl on the edges of the world and time slows down. 

_The inevitable is here._

He imagines it will pierce quickly and yet he remains frozen in place.

Does he run?

Does he pray?

_Does he grit his teeth and bear whatever comes his way to the very end?_

Time accelerates and a bell from the clocktower sounds.

_He knows it’s over._

Ignatz jerked his body forward and awoke in a cold sweat. A small group of baby birds leave his window sill, nearly as startled him. He clutched his chest and patted down his torso, thanking the goddess everything was still intact. Blankets covered the floor, displaced from the sheets wrapped around his body. He sat still in an effort to quiet his racing heart. 

_What an awful dream._

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. 

“Rise and shine buddy. You ready for training?”

It was Claude, shockingly early. He never took him to be a morning person.

“Y-yeah! Give me 5 minutes, I’ll be right there!”

Ignatz pulled out the first uniform his hand touched when he opened the closet and hurried to change out of his sleepwear. Without looking in a mirror, he was certain his cravat was out of place but it didn’t matter. He patted blindly for his glasses on the nightstand, knocking a small book or two off the edge and slipped the small cleaning cloth into the pocket of his shorts. Figuring his bag was more or less ready, he lifted the strap overhead to rest on his shoulder and rushed to open the door, hair wildly unkempt. 

Claude either didn’t notice his messy appearance or noticed it immediately but simply didn’t care. Instead, he opted for small talk and humming songs to fill any awkward silences. 

_So peculiar and yet how kind of him._

Ignatz could tell him he accidentally slept in today. He could say that he woke up from something terrible. That he needs to mentally prepare for the day after witnessing whatever onslaught took hold of his subconscious just now. 

He doesn’t. 

As they walk down the dormitory hallways to exit out into the field, he doesn’t mention the dream either. It’s too heavy for small talk, especially at the crack of dawn. It’d only distract from archery practice anyway. 

The ground feels soft and damp underneath his shoes from the rain of the previous night. It’s a little overcast but faint clouds of fog start to clear once the faculty set up their posts and students line up their weapons to strike against handmade targets. When one of the volunteers handed him a polished silver bow, he hesitated. He saw a replica of the exact model merely an hour ago. It felt too real to accept it. Too sudden. Before he could say anything, Claude stepped in front of him, swiping the bow from the equipment keeper’s hands. 

“If Ignatz doesn’t want it, I don’t mind playing around with this one.” 

The volunteer tried to argue that students can only use bows the academy assigns them but with a wink and an offer for his partner to race to the firing range, the warning fell on deaf ears. Wordlessly, Ignatz picked up a training bow from one of the rusted stands and scurried behind. 

As dangerous as it might have seemed, chasing after Claude to the firing range wasn’t a bad idea. Fortunately, it meant they had first choice for lanes and straw bales for pining target cloths. Ignatz draped the heavy sheet over the straw and pushed a few nails into the edges of the disk, stopping after Claude tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up.

“I believe this is yours.” His eyes fell on the silver bow Claude took so eagerly. He shook his head but that only made the other boy nudge it closer to him. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong but I’m pretty sure you’re registered to use this one now. Besides,” he said, tracing the bow’s insignia from the limb to its worn riser. “It’s good to challenge yourself.” 

A challenge is an apt way to describe it for more reasons than one. Graduating to any higher caliber weapon implies more power at the expense of less control. He knows he’ll have to be more cognizant of the slight pressure he applies with his fingers to get consistent shots upon release. 

It’s a challenge for sure but the fact that it’s important for him to grow is something he can’t argue against. In guest lectures featuring skilled bowmen, it’s said the silver variety is the sniper’s tool of choice. Certification exams are months away but it’s still good to prepare. 

Ignatz exhaled softly as he placed an arrow on the bowstring and straddled the firing line. Loosening his grip on the riser, he ran through the fundamentals in his mind. One finger above the nock; two fingers below; drop the shoulders and pull back to anchor with the underside of the jaw. 

_Take another breath and let it fly._

He watched the arrow cut crisp through the air and make contact with one of the target’s outer blue rings, a good distance above the center. 

“Ooh, that was a clean one!” Claude’s comment made him smile. It was a decent shot and for his first time with a new weapon _it felt pretty good._

Ignatz launched another straight ahead, lodging it into a red ring just shy of the golden center. The next arrow followed suit, a few centimeters away from the previous one. Claude whistled. 

“Nice grouping. I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of those.” 

Surprisingly, it was working rather well. Another careful shot landed in the same ring, slightly below the two twins. If they were taking score, this round would have allotted 21 points so far, not that Ignatz thought much about competition at his own level. 

“And now you’re just showing off,” Claude said. Ignatz’s face flushed, heat rising to his cheeks.

“No, not at all.” He fumbled with nocking his last arrow, almost setting it too high on the string before steadily readjusting it with the riser properly. 

“Besides, I’m not as good as you,” he mumbled, pulling three fingers on the string back to the corner of his mouth. Reaching the apex of his draw, he tried to keep his arm gripping the riser as straight as possible, knowing any slight bend will put tension on his muscles. Ignatz is well aware that he’s not the most physically strong member of his class. 

But he always makes up for that lack of strength with accuracy.

Well, he tries to at least. 

His last mark grazed the edge of the straw bale, set for a destination meters away in the grass. He wasn’t too displeased since flukes are bound to happen and it wasn’t a bad run at all for the first session. He handed Claude his bow, waiting for the all clear to cross the line and pick up his arrows. 

“You sure I should use this one? I’m a little intimidated.” Ignatz furrowed his brow. 

“You’re intimidated?” 

“A little. I’ve actually never used one of these before but,” he adjusted the leather strap of the quiver on his back, a tinge of excitement lighting across his face. “There’s a first for everything right?” 

With the range instructor’s shout to clear the target boards and prepare to switch marksmen, Ignatz briskly walked down their lane, fighting the urge to break out into a run. The necessity for proper etiquette must always come first but he had to admit he was curious to see how Claude would approach “a challenge” as he called it. 

If there’s anything Ignatz could put in words about his archery partner that always amazes him, it’s Claude’s ability to draw back and fire without much hesitation. Of course he’d still pause to anchor his shot, akin to standard practice for beginners and veterans alike but the motion is often calm. Even then, he pulled back with relaxed shoulders and a leading arm slightly bent, hand loosely holding the riser. His thumb and his index finger pinched the tail end of the arrow, an unorthodox style for most archers at school but not any less effective. Hazel eyes narrowed at the target ahead and in a matter of seconds an arrow landed beautifully into the outer golden ring. It didn’t take long for Claude to launch another, maintaining technique consistent enough for it to fall mere centimeters away from the first one. 

_Two shots. Only minutes apart and he’s already grouping._

“That’s impressive,” Ignatz breathed out. Claude lowered his bow and reached for another arrow from his quiver.

“Heh. Thanks. You know,” he said, nocking the arrow and raising the bow up steady once again to aim with precision. “People seem to think it’s a natural talent for me but I’ve been shooting arrows back home long before I came here.” Claude’s gaze didn’t leave the target while equipping an open stance and fixing his posture. “In that sense, it’s kinda like you and drawing right?”

“Right.” Ignatz could understand that much but couldn’t help in wondering what Claude was referring to in mentioning ‘back home.’ Maybe he was thinking about it too hard but it felt like another way to label one of his many secrets. Regardless, Ignatz wouldn’t press him on the topic. Instead, he was content with watching the boy release an arrow several meters away into the innermost ring. Claude’s face beamed at the satisfying pat it made against the target. 

“Bullseye! Dead center!” As he readjusts to set another along the bowstring, Ignatz felt the weight of several stares directed in their vicinity. He wasn’t the only one watching. 

When a student can make anything look this effortless, attention is sure to follow. It emerges just as swiftly as Claude let his next shot fly seamlessly adjacent to the one before it. 

_Twice in a row?_

“I see we have an audience. Think I can do it again?” 

The inflection in Claude’s voice was inquisitive enough to register as a question but gave off the confidence of a declaration. Almost like he knew he could make it happen. A small crowd of students cheered in anticipation. In the mix of applause and support, a few groans could be heard as well. One noticeably from Lorenz who, upon a short glance, failed to nail a single arrow clearly on his board. 

Typical Lorenz fashion, both in attitude and execution. Ignatz knew this since the heir of House Gloucester was his former archery partner, albeit not very long. He’d never tell the guy he requested to be with someone else due to all his complaints, even if the young nobleman forged a bit of a poor reputation for being, well, difficult at times. The meeting with his advisor to make such a decision behind Lorenz’s back was embarrassing but Ignatz was glad it landed him with someone more skilled, but more importantly more driven. 

Perhaps it was the equation of luck and ambition that allowed Claude to aim his last arrow into the center as well. From a technical standpoint, his trajectory was solid. Form excellent. He was the model tutor for basic long range combat but through Ignatz’s eyes, watching Claude was like watching a theater performance. He radiated an entertainer’s charm, except he brought the same energy an actor can have on stage to life. 

By the looks of it, their classmates agreed. 

“Haha! I’d like to see you paint a picture of that one day!” 

Parallel to the subject matter, the topic of wartime paintings flashed through Ignatz’s mind. They seem so barbaric in theory but there’s glory to be found in there somewhere. The honor of defending one’s homeland. The sport of hunting for principles with physicality and polished instinct. It helps when the hero to be portrayed isn’t fighting on a battlefield but practicing causally in an open prairie with his comrades. The request could have been facetious but Ignatz didn’t mind the thought of another project. 

“Maybe I will.” _When he gets a modicum of freetime, maybe he will._

The rest of the morning graciously went without a hitch. Ignatz had a chance to get acquainted with his new weapon as well as chat briefly with Claude about today’s lunch menu before his house leader disappeared into a sea of other students in the reception hall. During a seminar on social order hosted by the Knights of Seiros, Ignatz sat near the back of the classroom, gazing out the window to reflect for a moment. He wondered where Claude had run off and why the stool next to him was empty despite the boy’s name being written on the attendance roster clear as day. It had been weeks since they talked in the woods and he liked the fact that conversation led to the two of them spending more time together but it didn’t excuse the less unsavory aspects of their relationship.

In short, Claude’s immediate friends weren’t the most responsible people Ignatz knew. And by immediate he meant Hilda. It goes without saying the stool in front of him with the Goneril name tag on the table was also vacant. While Ignatz appreciated more opportunities to spend time with them, it often implied invitations to skip class and goof around. Occasionally, he got the sense that the class skipping was only a front for something more investigative. In private, Claude can be rather critical of certain faculty members on campus. Tomas is one in particular that he spoke of in poor taste. Maybe he abandoned seminar in search of evidence to back up a few wandering accusations or find proof that Seteth redacted certain information in the archives.

Or maybe he just wanted to sneak food in the back of an unused lecture room while Hilda made flower crowns and persuaded other willing boys to bring them more dining hall snacks. It’s possible since Ignatz caught them red handed the other day. Guilty as charged. 

_Those two are lucky he’s not the type to tell anyone._

Nevertheless, Ignatz rarely found himself on board with their schemes. In spite of that, Claude started the kind habit of leaving a snack or two on the bespeckled boy’s desk in homeroom. Even now, a small pastry rested atop a napkin on his table. Underneath the handkerchief peeked out a small piece of paper with words written in messy cursive. 

_Take notes for me too buddy_

_-C. R._

Ignatz sighed. The gesture was nice but it was a clear indication he had been here but found something more interesting to do. Or just didn’t want to stay. He glanced down at his journal. At some point in the process of mindlessly recording lecture content, he lazily wrote his own thoughts mixed with fragmented nonsense. 

Today was clearly not a focused day but he can’t win them all. 

The pastry did smell nice. It might not be worth getting reprimanded for eating in class. 

But it’d surely be a shame to let it go to waste. 

It isn’t until classes end for the day that Ignatz remembered he left something in his room to drop off at the archives. A pocket sized manual on chivalric code lay forgotten in a sea of bedding from the rambunctious morning. It was recommended by his father and proved to be a mildly useful read despite the dull language which likely explained why he didn’t finish it. Nonetheless, due date time was fast approaching. He ran from the dormitory, dodging carefully as to not bump into any passersby, to the entrance of the Knights’ Hall. Outside of archery class, it was an area of the monastery he rarely sought out except to hunt down books every once and awhile. 

The atmosphere makes for a distinct contradiction. It’s as eloquent in architecture as it is rugged, with the scent of burning coals and burlap sacks from shipments of blacksmith wares. In the midst of meetings concerning battle tactics and live demonstrations of physical prowess, there’s a sense that it’s a special wing of school grounds. A place where legends are born into heroes’ shoes or forged from the ashes of their predecessors. Even now, that feeling lingered as the sound of clashing metal accosted Ignatz’s ears. He peered around the room, searching for a library book cart when his eyes spotted a glimpse of bright orange, the source of the noise. 

For all the boxes of armor and lances in iron stands, it was sight to see Leonie diligently move them all by herself. 

“Oh hi there Ignatz. Here to return a book?” she asked, lining a few spears against the wall opposite to the bookshelf. “You can just place it on the desk over here, I’ll get it later.” 

The mahogany pedestal desk was covered in gauntlets and plumes for helmets. Ignatz hestistated, unsure whether or not to settle for a small corner of the surface before Leonie spoke again. 

“I know there’s a lot of crap over there, but just place it on top of something, it’s fine.” Ignatz nodded. _Small corner under the plate armor will do._

“It seems like it’s a pretty busy day by the look of things. May I ask what you’re doing exactly?”

Leonie grabbed another handful of lances to arrange neatly alongside the others. 

“Some of the knights took a few classes on an expedition today so Alois asked me to take care of their equipment while they’re gone. I was supposed to have a few more volunteers pitch in but I guess everyone changed their minds to head out instead. I don’t blame them. I mean, I wanted to go see the fuss about the field trip too but someone has to do the low work around here right?”

“I see. Why don’t I help you?” Ignatz asked. “I don’t have anything else for the day and it may go faster if there’s two of us.” 

“Oh you don’t have to! I’m getting paid for this so I can handle it on my own. Plus it’s a little heavy.” Leonie may have carried each iron lance and javelin with ease but knowing they were used by the monastery’s finest warriors meant he could only imagine the weight behind them. 

“I don’t mind.” Leonie paused to study his face for a moment. 

“You sure?”

Strength training was never his forte but this could be a good opportunity to test himself. 

“Just tell me what needs to be done and I’ll do my best!” Leonie smiled. 

“In that case, let’s see here. I want everything organized when they all return so I need all these spears moved to this wall. Oh! And if you look around the corner,” she said, pointing at the doorway, “there’s a little storage area with some crates. Looks like the ones I have on the floor here. I need those in here. Most of it is chainmail and I’m gonna lay the armor out. Shouldn’t take us too long.” 

As Ignatz struggled to tilt a horseslayer away from one of the dusty bookshelves, he recalled an urban legend of his childhood. Tales of a magical sword stuck in stone, imbued with such power that it only recognized a certain child as its true wielder. The king of the land. He might have lifted it up briefly and stumbled to lean the ridersbane on the opposite side of the room, but he definitely didn’t feel like The Chosen One while doing so. Especially not when Leonie could move several in the time it took him to transport one. 

“You good?” she asked, the concern in her voice interrupting labored breaths. Ignatz gave a gesture to wait before fixing his eyes on the door. 

_What else was there to do again? Hopefully something easier?_

“Yeah um, I’m gonna-” he took another breath and started walking towards the threshold, cautious not to trip on the uneven strip of wood at his feet. 

“I’m gonna go get the boxes! Be right back!” 

“Okay soldier! Bring in whatever’s on the bottom two shelves alright?” she asked from around the corner. The crates appeared unassuming, maybe a little gross from speckles of dirt on the front. He pulled one to his chest and slipped his fingers along the sides, gripping the bottom. 

So this is chainmail? 

People wear this? 

People fight while wearing this? 

Better yet, one faithful day, he will have to wear this? 

The first crate proved to be less of a problem but Ignatz found himself not looking forward to the true knighthood experience of having anything to do with the contents inside. Around the fifth crate or so, Ignatz placed one on the ground and pushed it towards the door. He wiped away beads of sweat from his brow and bent down before Leonie stopped him. 

“Hey hey, if you’re gonna take care of the boxes for me, please lift with your knees,” she said, bending down and demonstrating the motion as she took the box herself and placed it next to the rest of the equipment. 

“R-right. Sorry about that.” Leonie shook her head. 

“You don’t have to be sorry. I’m just making sure you don’t throw your back out on my watch.”

_Lift with your knees._

He repeated that warning to himself as he transported goods from the second shelf. Turns out, it made for solid advice to take away unnecessary strain and probably avoid stunting his future career. All of the lances were propped up on display by the time Ignatz carried in the last crate. The following step was just to sort through the boxes’ contents and clear that cluttered desk. Slowly but surely, the room took on some semblance of order. 

“Break time!” Leonie exclaimed, plopping down in a chair that previously held gauntlets now neatly aligned on a carpet on the floor. Ignatz saw her stretch out of his periphery, more engrossed with the various tomes on the bookshelves. Curiously enough, a few collections from local painters and pamphlets advertising market exhibits sat in between war records. He wondered if those also qualified as reference. 

Maybe they could be checked out too.

“Sit down Iggy! It’s break time! Books can wait.”

Ignatz carefully removed one of the newer editions from the shelf before turning to look back at Leonie.

“But I often spend breaks reading so this is normal.” 

Normal at the expense of making poor company. That would be unfortunate. 

“Alright. But I want to play catch up while you’re still here.”

“Catch up?” he repeated.

“Yes. Raph and I were looking for you at lunch time. Turns out you were eating with Claude of all people.” 

Ignatz ran the clock back in his mind. Yes, that was today. And yesterday. And the day before that. And- 

_This was a new habit wasn’t it?_

“Oh...yeah,” he murmured. “I told him we should all sit together tomorrow but he’s been pulling me aside to talk about art alot lately.”

“Really? You think he’s gonna start painting too?” she asked. 

The image of Claude the artist was interesting to conjure up but lacked a certain level of realism. Maybe it was feasible if his eyes didn’t glaze over at the mere mention of supplies, color theory, or mixing pigment with binder. 

“No, I doubt that. We mainly talk about art history and I don’t think he’s all that interested in the process itself but, I didn’t think he knew that much about the topic.” Leonie huffed out a laugh, placing a hand under her chin. 

“Heh. What do you know? Our house leader’s definitely not just a pretty face.”

“I-I didn’t mean it like that!” Ignatz retorted. “It’s just unexpected when people are into the things you like! You understand right?” Leonie nodded.

“Yup. See, I told you art is a good hobby. Although I’m sure you can do more with it some day.” 

He certainly hoped so. He skimmed through a few pages of the anthology in his hands and lingered on an image of a young woman in white robes petting the head of a winged beast bowing at her bare feet. A golden halo adorned the crown in her hair and mixes of warm autumn colors surrounded the two figures in a depiction of a forest clearing months before cold. The title struck Ignatz with an instant realization. 

Heaven and Earth, circa 1150. 

This has to be _her_. 

“Say Leonie, could I ask you something?” He opened the page of the book and held it out for her to see. “Do you ever think about how people paint things like this?” The floor creaked as she leaned forward, shifting her weight to the edge of the chair. 

“Woah. Where is that?” she asked. “It looks like Gronder field.” He peered over the page that contained the artist’s information briefly. 

“It’s nowhere. Rather, according to their personal statement, it’s their conception of the afterlife.”

“That’s gorgeous,” she said, reaching out her hand to hold the book and take a closer look. Ignatz made a mental note of the page number as he gave it to her.

It was a lovely piece indeed. 

_If only his art could move people to bouts of quiet like that._

“I’ve been really interested in biblical art,” Ignatz said, absentmindedly fidgeting with his hands. “It’s part of what Claude and I talk about these days. But have you ever considered where people get that inspiration from to make things like that?”

Leonie brushed a thumb across her chin to think. After a moment’s repose, she took a quill from her pocket and placed it in the binding of the anthology as a bookmark, closing the cover. 

“I might only have more guesses than answers but, you know Ignatz, I used to draw when I was younger. I’m sure I told you that.”

Faint anecdotes of Leonie’s art adventures swam through his train of thought but nothing concrete came into view. 

“At any rate, art was sort’ve my hobby. My parents were dead set on raising me right or whatever that means so I went to catechism a lot.”

The image of religious youth education classes proved easier to conjure up. Desks pushed in circles. Leaflets for hymns. It was familiar. 

“They were mainly scribbles that any kid does. I wasn’t good at it like you. But, as crazy as it might sound, I used to have visions of the goddess so during class, the minister let me paint what she looked like in my head.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh. See, in my mind,” she began, “she was someone very strong. The same way Seiros is strong since she was a woman who commanded armies. But more than having military strength, the goddess is our protector.” Leonie formed a closed fist and pressed the knuckles against her palm. 

“She’s someone who ordains peace and prosperity and defeats whatever works against those ends. And in my drawings, she wasn’t too different from us in stature. Kind like this book here, minus all the fancy details,” she said, lightly tapping the cover with her fingertips. “When I say that, I mean she looked like someone literally our height. But like most kids, I was probably egocentric so I would take all that with a grain of salt.” 

“Could I...Could I see them?” Ignatz asked. The question made intrigue flash across Leonie’s face. 

“My childhood paintings? I mean, I doubt you’d get much value out of them.”

“I’m sure I would.” 

_After all, children are said to be gifted with great spiritual wisdom._ He left that part out but hoped that his sincerity registered. An unfamiliar despondency curved her shoulders inward as if a gust of cold air flowed through the room that only she experienced. 

“Even if you wanted to see them, you can’t. I lost everything in a fire when my town was under siege.

Suddenly, that forlorn look made sense. Before Ignatz could interject, Leonie pressed on. 

“At the time, it made me kinda angry. In more ways than one but I kept having the same thought over and over. How could the goddess let this happen? Then I remembered something.”

“What’s that?” 

Ignatz watched Leonie rise from the chair and begin removing equipment out of the crates on the floor. 

“When the goddess came down to Earth as Seiros, she had many enemies. In school they told us it’s because the goddess lets us make our own decisions so there’s some people who choose to do bad things. Seiros came here and saw that herself. People questioned her. People didn’t believe her to be the daughter of the Progenitor God. Neither of those things are inherently bad of course but what made it awful is when they hurt people and threw away all those values we’re supposed to uphold.”

She hesitated on taking out the last article of chain mail from one of the boxes for a moment before laying it out and grabbing one of the nearby iron lances to stand. 

“I’m getting off track but I wasn’t so pissed once I realized the world isn't full of just bad people like that. Just like Seiros, there’s other protectors out there. I like to believe in the midst of all that shock, that’s why she sent people like Captain Jeralt to me. To show me that.”

When Leonie turned around, it may have only been a brief moment, but Ignatz felt he was staring back at the next Blade Breaker. If anyone were to carry the heavy mercenary title somewhere down the line, it’d be her. The resolve. The natural battle prowess. Keen ability for maintenance.

They were all puzzle pieces to the larger mosaic of Fódlan’s legacy. 

“Priests say we should walk with the goddess and try to be like her. Well if that’s the case, I want to protect people too one day.”

“I think you can do it.” _He knows she can._ Leonie smiled. 

“Thanks. But it’s not a matter of can. It’s a matter of will. I will protect others.” 

_So admirable._ So much so he nearly failed to notice she was back to organizing armor once more. 

“I see break time has ended hasn’t it?” he asked. Another piece of chainmail hit the carpet, dispersing dust into the air. 

“Oh break time’s been over. It’s my bad that I got distracted but did that answer your question? Or help any?”

Ignatz shyly rubbed the back of his neck. 

“It did but I wish I had’ve taken notes while you were talking.” Something about that comment made her laugh.

“You’re so silly Ignatz. If you forget anything you can always ask me but, for my own curiosity, what do you think the goddess is like?”

_Is it shameful to be unable to answer your own question?_

“I…..I don’t know. But I’m hoping that my art can get me close to figuring it out.”

“So in the cathedral one day, will I see one of your original works?” she asked. “That’s why you’re doing all this right?”

_Why was he doing all this?_

Fame doesn’t matter no, but if his work could be good enough to hang up in the monastery of all places…

“If it’s possible, then yes.” The response didn’t come off confidently in his heart but it seemed Leonie respected the attempt. 

“Well, I believe in you! And I’m sure Claude believes in you too. Although I doubt he’s the church going type.”

“He isn’t. But it was his suggestion that I ask you and the other deer.”

“Hm. Not a bad idea. Why don’t you ask Marianne then? She doesn’t draw or anything but she’s probably the most devout out of all of us.”

True. For some strange reason, talking to her about faith never crossed his mind. The choice was all too obvious. “I’ll see what she thinks,” Ignatz replied. After laying out another set of armor, Leonie took the anthology off of the nearby seat and handed it to him. 

“Well good luck talking to her. I swear I can never catch Marianne. She’s kinda like a ghost.”

Now that Leonie mentioned it, he realized that Marianne had amassed the reputation of being the school spectre. As such a role implies, she had this elusive quality to her, akin to an encounter with the paranormal where you know what you saw was real but aren’t sure when you’ll see it again. Perhaps seeing isn’t the right way to describe more as ‘interact with it’ are the key words. 

In spite of her silence, she’s a model student. Perfect attendance. Always in class, always attentive but rarely social. The type to speak when spoken to and do her end of the group work individually. That also meant leaving as soon as time permitted. Marianne made an impression in Ignatz’s mind rooted deeply in her lack of one. He could never forget those dull, tired eyes or that sobering voice that spoke few words. He was sure no one else could forget she was one of their classmates either but rather, most of them look away for just a moment and discover she’s gone. Like a series of azure lobelias lost in a field of tall grass that gently wither away only to be replanted elsewhere. Upon the subsequent discovery, they’re withering away again, a sign that the cycle of movement will continue. 

Even so, Ignatz was determined to find her and chat. Even if it was only for a moment. 

Seeing her the following day would’ve been ideal but seemed improbable since she vanished completely after morning classes. Claude wasn’t at school in the afternoon either, making for two empty seats in the dining hall likely overlooked by most but not Ignatz. Although no one knew about Marianne, Raphael considered that Claude was either sick or overslept while Leonie assumed he planned to skip class altogether. As terrible as it was, Ignatz wouldn’t have been surprised if he overslept _and_ decided to skip. Such is the academic life of a brilliant mind plagued by poor choices. But knowing Claude, he wouldn’t view it as a plague or making a poor choice at all. The folded piece of parchment he received from a random student turned temporary informant told him just as much. 

_“Found something interesting to investigate. Taking a raincheck on lunch. Send Leonie and Raphael my regards._

_C.R._

_P.S. If Seteth or Teach asks about me, tell them I’m sick. Thanks!”_

Leonie peered over Ignatz’s shoulder to read the letter and groaned, rubbing her temples. 

“That trickster! He really did it. And he’s gonna put the onus on you in case something goes awry huh?”

“I guess so,” Ignatz muttered, not too pleased with whatever scheme this was turning out to be. Especially since he promised the four of them would enjoy a meal together.

_No wonder he had no problem leaving monastery grounds before. That’s a part of his routine._

“So you guys pass notes to each other like this?” Raphael asked, slightly louder than Ignatz liked in reference to a secret. 

“Not me. I-I don’t write much back or at all. It’s a Claude thing.”

“What’s a ‘Claude’ thing?”

Ignatz shrieked at the familiar voice behind him that chose to jump into their conversation and immediately crumpled the paper in his hand, letting it drop onto a plate of half eaten pheasant skewers. Leonie chuckled. 

“What a way to make a royal entrance Lorenz,” she said, plucking the paper out of the dish while Raphael claimed one of the skewers for himself. Lorenz placed a hand on the table and leaned in as if he was an instructor micromanaging a group project. 

“Forgive my sudden intrusion but I heard the name Claude and couldn’t help but be curious. He’s supposed to aid me in tending to the weeds right about now and rather conveniently, he’s nowhere to be found.” He studied Ignatz’s face with discernment.

“I suspect he’s skipping class.”

“He’s not skipping.” Ignatz didn’t know why he said that so quickly after hearing the truthful accusation. 

“Well then, where is he?” 

Ignatz nervously adjusted his glasses. If he gave an excuse, would it sound convincing? Could he look Lorenz in the eyes and lie to his face? Could he do it while his friends were watching too? He could feel their stares as well, albeit not as heavy as one coming from the noble birth. 

He swallowed hard.

“He’s….He’s sick. He went to the infirmary earlier to lie down. We think it’s due to the high pollen count today.” 

Lorenz squinted at him, frowning slightly before relaxing his gaze. 

“In that case, tell him to get well soon. And to take care of his health to avoid shirking his duties.” 

_Damn. Under pressure, he could lie. And Lorenz actually bought?_

When Claude recovered from the illness known as being up to no good, they’d have to talk about his propensity for being a bad influence. Regardless, the fake anecdote proved enough for Lorenz to dismiss the group without any question. That didn’t mean Ignatz didn’t have one of his own. 

He rose and called out to the young man who was heading for the courtyard. 

‘Wait! Have you seen Marianne? I was hoping I could talk to her sometime before lunch ended but I haven’t seen her.” Lorenz furrowed his brow.

“Marianne? Hmm...Now that I think about it, I rarely find her here enjoying a meal. I’ve heard rumors that she sits in the stables in between classes but I’m not sure. Had I the time, I’d go check but-”

“I’ll go!” Ignatz piped up and dashed past his classmate in earnest. It might have been rude to abandon Raphael and Leonie without much warning let alone drop out of a conversation with Lorenz completely but knowing classes would start again soon, he needed to act quickly. It was a jog from the Officer's Academy to the stables but not impossible to get there before the bell rang.

He could make it. He did make it.

It was just too bad that he sacrificed a sprint for a barn devoid of any people. Bundles of hack lay stacked at the door. The troughs were filled with grains and chopped up apples and carrots. Traces of someone’s existence were clear but not a person in sight. 

The clocktower sounded. 

If she was there, she was already gone. 

A week of chasing after a spectre came and went. Occasionally, a morning greeting interjected the game of cat and mouse but a teetering anxiety on both parties prevented any natural progression of small talk. But once Ignatz gathered the nerve to advance, Marianne disappeared. For now, he dangled his feet over the edge of the pier by the greenhouse, staring listlessly into the cerulean water below. A gentle tap of his heel sent ripples through the surface. 

As far as he knew, there was no reason for Marianne to avoid him specifically. There wasn’t a reason for her to avoid anyone in general. Something was off. It had something to do with the way she carried herself. How she doesn’t look him or anyone in the eye when she talks to them. How she apologizes for things outside of her control as if she caused them. Marianne is all the neurotic vulnerabilities Ignatz hates about himself and more wrapped into a frail package. That fact doesn’t anger him. 

It just made him wonder if his behavior in any way was making it worse. 

Ignatz picked up the basket of flowers by his side and placed it into his lap. Dwelling about his classmate’s timidity alone wasn’t enough to fix it. He can’t even begin to consider a remedy for his own. But, he could find the courage to engage in something outside of the realm of everyday people. He tied a string of cotton around a handful of bluebells and delphiniums to make a bouquet. They were overgrown in his section of the greenhouse for a while but hopefully the remainder would make a decent offering. 

Parishioners were few and far between in the cathedral that afternoon. Choir practice ended as a few students in choral robes chatted amongst themselves on the bridge while others lingered to slip notes into the advice box near the gate. As Ignatz walked towards the saint room, he noticed a figure kneeling in front of the atlar, head bowed in humility. The sight of her and the sun shining on the braided crown of her azure hair made him pause and do a double take. 

All that searching and now the spectre of the school sat in clear view, her face pale in contrast to the glow of the linoleum floor. 

Marianne wasn’t languid as usual but still maintained a troubled air about her. She whispered something to herself as nimble fingers moved across a strand of wooden beads. Although her hands trembled with every turn of the necklace, her voice remained calm and steady. Ignatz knows it’s impolite to stare but part of him wanted to continue witnessing the most words she’s uttered in weeks. Even so, he’d follow his plan to pay homage despite his own lack of devotion. 

As much as he wished to speak to her, it felt wrong to approach. _Not like this._

He could wait for her to finish something so intimate. 

On the contrary, approaching Cichol’s statue wasn’t nearly as difficult to which he’s unsure if that’s good or bad. The process was so procedural. Nothing struck him upon placing the bouquet in the bronze offering box. He held his palms together to pray afterwards but his mind was blank. Only a few words strung together to formulate a selfish request coated in high praise. It was a textbook rendition of a cleric’s plea with a nameless disconnect. 

He wished he could speak with the beatified with as much soul as her. 

Exiting the saint room, he found Marianne still on her knees, murmuring words akin to the old Fódlanese of past poets. She loosened the grip on the necklace in her hands, letting the beads drop to the floor. Ignatz stepped forward to pick them up when she froze, abruptly stopping her invocation. 

_What happened?_

“Marianne?”

She didn’t respond. He took another step. 

“Um, Marianne?”

Dark gray eyes fluttered open. 

“Ignatz?” She turned her head slightly to gaze in his vicinity. 

“Ah! Hi there.” He managed an awkward wave to accompany a shy greeting. 

“I’m sorry, did you need something?” she asked. 

“Oh, well not exactly. I uh, just wanted to say hello. Here let me get these for you.” She watched quietly as he bent down to pick up her necklace. 

“I could have gotten that but um, thank you.” He shook his head.

‘It’s alright. Um, you seemed really focused just now. Mind if I ask what you were doing?”

“I don’t mind.” She rubbed her thumb against the beads as she spoke. “We will be deployed on another mission with the professor in a week’s time. I was praying for everyone’s safety.”

“Ah. That’s very kind of you.” 

A momentary quiet fell between the two of them, emphasized by the audible shuffle of footsteps outside the atrium. While Marianne avoided eye contact, Ignatz stared at a near mirror image of himself. Shadows of mild discomfort loomed in stagnant air. 

But someone had to break the uncertainty. 

“S-so uh,” Ignatz began. “If you’re still busy, I’d rather not interrupt. I actually came here to pay respects to those who are canonized here.” He raised his basket of flowers to show her, a few loose petals escaping to the ground. 

“I...I see.” 

“Yeah! I’m seeking divine inspiration for my art so I wanted to ask Saint Cichol for guidance.”

“Divine inspiration? For a painting?” Ignatz nodded. 

“Yes exactly. I know Cichol is known for his past connection with the literary arts as opposed to the visual field but I figured it was worth asking.” Marianne tilted her head to the side slightly, a display Ignatz couldn’t read very well but chose to label as confusion. 

“It is good to speak with the saints but….have you tried talking to the goddess directly about this?”

A fair proposal. Definitely better suited for someone with a better relationship to _her._

“I have. But... _I never know what to say._ ” Another unreadable expression behind a solemn form. 

“How often do you pray?”

_Before battle. During mass. Whenever asked to at any liturgy class._

If asked to count, the number of times it feels volitional as opposed to compulsory are few and far between. 

“Um, probably not as often as I should. But maybe we can speak with her together sometime.” 

“If you’re not busy Ignatz, why don’t we try now?”

The request was unexpected. Perhaps too soon without forewarning but it might not be necessary. He was partially glad Marianne entertained the idea at all. 

“Okay. Now then, I hate to ask but how do I do this? Do I get on my knees or…” he trailed off, noticing that Marianne closed her eyes and bowed her head again. Conceding to follow by example, he knelt beside her, sneaking glances between her face and the floor. Closing his eyes, he heard more whispers of a dead language followed by a question. 

“Do you want to go first?” she asked.

_Not particularly._

“I’m not even sure how to start off actually, if it’s not too much of a burden then…” 

“That’s okay,” she said softly. “I don’t mind.” 

While Marianne mentally prepared another invocation, Ignatz tried clearing his head but the same image came into frame. The field he saw that one dream, except different. The arrow traveled down his line of sight but stopped short of piercing flesh. The insignia of a crest emblazoned the sky. A ghastly figure of light held the arrow tightly and spread out wings that kissed the grass the same way a paladin’s shield makes contact with the ground. A calm, tranquil breeze washed over him.

And then the angel spoke. 

_Dear Goddess,_

_We ask to feel your presence in your house of worship here._

_And that you open our eyes to the truth. To your truth._

_And that you forgive us for our transgressions and doubts._

_We live in turbulent times in a world that is frightening but we seek comfort in you. We want to walk with you in this world without becoming of it._

_We repent for our blindness to you._

_A blindness that exists not within the body but in our spirits._

_Such ignorance is a sin only faith in you can absolve and we bow before you to receive that grace._

_I ask that you teach Ignatz your ways and guide him to understanding your nature._

_Open his heart to your wisdom so he may be inspired by you and carry your will into the calling you have set out for him._

_May holy inspiration and the blessings of the goddess follow him always._

The light bearer dissipates in verdant wind yet the arrow remains frozen in time. The air is cool against his forehead. The alternate version of the dream ends as color recedes into billows of smoke and finally darkness. 

He opens his eyes, adjusting blurry vision to reality. 

“Marianne.”

She did not meet his gaze upon hearing her name. Not right away.

“Thank you. For praying for me.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I just hope that prayer reaches her.”

“I hope so too. I think it’s interesting though since your words...they remind me a bit of a confessional.”

_Another act he doesn’t do as often as suggested._

It’s subtle but a tinge of confusion reflected through charcoal colored eyes. Par for the course these days, clarification was needed. 

“You mentioned a few things about forgiveness,” he said. “I was wondering if all of that was…..” _Necessary?_ _No, it doesn’t sound right to say that._

“Rather, I want to know why you did.” 

“We have to ask her for forgiveness, Ignatz. Every chance we get.”

_We do?_

_What have we done wrong?_

It’s a question he does not ask. He’s heard the answer many times and despite dealing with his own self depreciation, it’s a response that has never satisfied him. 

“It’s not pleasant to think about your mistakes all the time,” Marianne continued, “but I do it because we are unclean. The gospel teaches that anything that is of the earth is unclean. But through the grace of the goddess, we can be reborn anew.” 

“I see. But saying all the earthly things are unclean seems a bit harsh.” 

“It’s the truth.”

“I don’t think I agree with that.”

Marianne’s eyes widened, her mouth dropping slightly agape as if Ignatz had the audacity to take the goddess’s name in vain in the cathedral itself. His heart raced in his chest. He needed to backpedal. Quickly. 

“I’m not disagreeing with the goddess,” he insisted. “It’s with that idea! If the goddess made everything according to her plan for us, then it just doesn’t seem right that everything on earth is unclean. There’s so many wonderful creations in the world to behold and-” in an anxious motion, he tipped over the basket of flowers at his side, blue petals swirling on the floor. 

“Ah I’m sorry! I was saving the rest of these for pigment later but anyway,” he said, gathering the loose delphiniums before they blew away, “I haven’t seen much of the world yet but in the few places I’ve been, I’ve learned so many things here on earth are really breathtaking. These flowers are certainly a prime example,” he said, gently returning a few fallen leaves. “Although they looked even better in the pots when I first grew them.” 

Marianne watched him curiously as he covered the plants in his basket with a handkerchief. Ignatz pulled one of the cloth’s frayed ends and wrapped the string of cotton around the remaining stems. 

“At any rate, you think of the goddess as someone who forgives,” he said. “That’s good to know.”

“Is it?” she asked. “Yes, absolutely!” He scanned the room and settled on an oil portrait of Seiros hanging on the altar. “You see that painting over there?” he pointed. “I want to do something like that one day. Now I know I should use forgiveness as a theme. I might not be sure how to visualize that but at least the goddess will pardon me for my own imperfections right?” 

The rhetorical question was spoken only in half jest. Fortunately Marianne seemed somewhat amused by it. That sentiment made the atmosphere lighter somehow. Perhaps it was his own imagination but she even looked less tired. 

Finding a spectre is hard. Talking to one is more rewarding than one would think. And there’s no greater reward than the gift of her speaking back, unasked. 

“Ignatz,” Marianne said. 

“Yes?”

“Thank you for coming here. I know you came to show respect to the saints and the goddess but thank you….for coming to see me. I don’t think I’m very good at interacting with people so I try to stay out of everyone’s way but...this was nice.”

“Oh, I’m not great at socializing either but….” Making eye contact he stared into a near mirror image of himself. Though her confidence waned more than his own, a mutual understanding of a simple fact existed in plain sight. 

_There’s common ground to be explored. Hopefully in the near future_. 

“I had a good time too,” he finished. “By the way, when you’re not praying Marianne, you should keep your head up more often, just like this.” 

“Like...like this?” She blinked in disbelief. He nodded, smiling sweetly as he stood up, plucking a single petal from the hem of his shorts. 

“Yes. You’ll miss a lot of the beauty in the world if you don’t look up.” 

At the gate of the church, a small voice called his name. 

“You forgot your flowers.” Over his shoulder, he could see Marianne holding the handle of the basket delicately, the base grazing her lap. He dismissed them with a wave. 

“I didn’t forget. Please keep them. Thinking about it, it was silly for me to take more than I needed when I have plenty of blue in my dorm already. You can give them all to the goddess or the other saints if you like. I just hope you’ll at least keep one for yourself.” 

In a few hours time, his most recent pastoral needed to dry but it sat on his easel, complete. Abandoned doodles outlined his desk, sinking to the floor as new ones quickly replaced older sketches. Ignatz knew the clutter at his work station was no longer comfortable. 

But, in a strange twist of fate, the motivation to organize it all flowed through conscious thought. 

Morning classes for the next day carried on like any other. In accordance with Lorenz’s predictions, Ignatz spotted Marianne through a sea of students changing classes, walking towards the stables. Neither of them exchanged a passing word but the identifying mark that caught his eye was a single delphinium pinned inside one of her braids. It’s hardly noticeable, dare indiscernible from afar but with the sharpness of a paring knife, he saw it. 

He wouldn’t chase after her. Claude and the others were waiting on him. She assuredly had plans to feed the animals alone. He could appreciate both ends for now. 

A spectre is elusive. She works in mysterious ways but with enough attention, you’ll find she leaves a minute trace to find her. 

Maybe the goddess does the same. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is currently in production and without revealing the next appearances, all I can say is I hope you guys like banter. Because trust me, there’s a good amount of that coming up ;^)


End file.
